Practically Brothers
by Marvelous Winchester
Summary: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers start off as hesitant teammates, but they get to a place where they're practically brothers. They see each other at their worst; injured, mourning, struggling to live with painful memories. This is a collection of one-shots that shows snapshots of this progression from teammates to friends.
1. Chapter 1

Steve walked into the workshop with a strange expression on his face. Tony wouldn't have even noticed that he entered, but he had happened to flip up his welding mask for a sip of his drink. With the glass frozen halfway to his mouth, Tony stared at the Super Soldier.

"Cap? Hey Steve? What's wrong with you?" Tony's forgotten drink felt heavy in his hand.

Steve shuffled closer to the table, picking up a spare part and turning it absently in his hand. On closer inspection, Tony noticed that Steve's skin was pale with dark circles under his blue eyes.

Their Captain hadn't been sleeping.

Tony placed his welding mask on the table and cautiously made his way over to the other man. He paused when he was within arm's reach of his teammate.

 _What now, genius?_

Tony opened and closed his hands uncomfortably. "Steve, you've got to talk to me, buddy."

He cleared his throat and placed a tentative hand on Steve's left shoulder. "You're looking a little less chipper than usual."

Steve flinched away the moment's Tony's hand made contact, reeling back and staring at Tony like he hadn't realized he was there until now.

"Howard?" Steve blinked rapidly and furrowed his brows. "Tony, what's going on?"

"Steve, how bad is it?" Tony's hesitancy to touch his teammate left as he searched for an injury. "Tell me where you're hurt, I can have Bruce down here in five seconds."

Tony quickly glanced up at his Captain's face. "Well not actually five seconds, but maybe a minute or so. Talk to me, Cap."

Steve warily watched Tony, swatting his hands away as he searched for some imagined injury.

"Stark, I'm fine." He stepped back and looked at the inventor like he'd lost his mind. "I want to know how I got down here. Last I remember, I was in bed."

Realization dawned on Tony's face and he bit his lip to keep his laughter at bay. "Cap, were you just sleep walking?"

Steve turned red and crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you talking about, Stark?"

"Well you sauntered in here all zombie-like, seemed completely oblivious to me being here, and you freaked out when I touched you." Tony ran his hand through his rumpled hair. "And here I thought you were bleeding out or had been concussed."

He pointed an accusatory finger at Steve and wiped grease-stained hands on his t-shirt. "Way to almost give me a heart attack, Cap."

Steve looked sheepish for a moment and then glanced down at the floor. "I didn't know I still sleep walked."

Tony couldn't contain his laughter this time. He dissolved into giggles when Steve glared at him. It was probably supposed to be an intimidating expression, but the scare-factor was really decreased when said-scarer had just sleep walked into your lab.

"Honestly," Tony said, "it's probably better me than anyone else on the team. You may have startled Bruce into unleashing our favorite green destruction machine. Nat and Clint may have actually killed you. And you may have been fried extra crispy if you snuck up on Thor."

Steve sighed and looked around, really taking the workshop in for the first time that night.

"Well I'm already up," he said. "Do you need a hand with anything?"

Tony fought down a smile with an exasperated grin. "If you insist, Cap."

He pointed toward the corner to a cherry red sports car. "You wanna be my jack?"

 _God, so many dirty jokes possible, but I'll go easy on him. He just woke up and he's embarrassed._

Steve nodded.

For the next few hours, Steve casually lifted cars for Tony to work on. Tinkering was always therapeutic for Tony, but having the genius' quiet presence was therapeutic for Steve.

When Steve headed to bed, Tony quietly asked JARVIS to keep him updated on the Captain's whereabouts. Steve slept soundly for the rest of the night without so much as a twitch.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve drummed his fingers on the table. His eyes had skimmed the first line of the newspaper article he held clutched in his other hand more times than he could count. He shifted his gaze to the far wall, glaring angrily at the blank space. He was alone in the common kitchen despite Stark's assurance that he, "would be there on time for the strategy meeting," and that he, "wouldn't get distracted this time."

He was moments away from storming down to the lab and dragging Stark up here himself. The billionaire couldn't keep a meeting if it was tattooed backwards on his forehead. Steve imagined that Stark spent enough time gazing at his reflection in the mirror that the forehead tattoo would be most likely to do the trick.

But Steve wasn't thundering down the stairs just yet. He was seething and trying to squash the reaction he was having to Stark's ridiculous disregard for the rules. Couldn't he show another human being just a modicum of respect?

This was an overreaction.

Steve knew that.

But he also was aware that the serum amplified every part of his personality. And man did he hate when someone disrespected people. Disrespect for authority? That was practically ingrained in Steve's DNA. Disrespect for human people? Not okay.

The whole team had been at the meeting, ready to go over the plan. They had some dangerous missions on the table, and Stark's input was vital. He had the gear and know-how to do incredible things with technology. But he couldn't give that kind of input if he never showed up. So after Steve had taken hours to prepare for the meeting, had set up the conference room with neatly paper-clipped mission reports and honest-to-God agendas for each Avenger, Stark hadn't even shown his face. Hadn't called, hadn't texted, not so much as an email.

At first, Steve had been worried. He had gone so far as to contact JARVIS (something he had recently learned how to do), who had informed him that, "Sir is perfectly healthy and working on a project. Thank you for your concern, Captain, but he has requested that he not be disturbed for anything, and I quote, 'not bat shit crazy.'"

JARVIS had informed Steve of this over the omnipotent speakers all over Stark—no, Avenger—Tower, right in front of the team he was supposed to be leading. Not that it really mattered, everyone understood that Stark was a couple of handfuls on a good day, but Steve still remembered the heat rising in his face. They had all blocked out time to sit down and go through the briefing, but instead they had collected the information, mumbled something about, "finding a time that works for everyone," and had disappeared to their floors in the Tower.

Steve had clenched his jaw in frustration as he marched up to the common kitchen. He had considered going straight to the lab, but thought better of it. He knew he needed to take the time to calm down.

Thirty minutes later, he had not calmed down at all. He hadn't even finished the first sentence of this article, and he was still seething. He needed to get this over quickly, because he was only going to get angrier at the billionaire.

People seemed to think that he didn't get frustrated or angry. He was American's Golden Boy, after all. Did they just assume that he took righteous anger and patriotism into battle? Of course he fought for his country, but he was fueled with anger, fury, and loss. He took more darkness onto the battlefield than he cared to admit. But he could still paste that Captain America smile onto his face when he needed to, it just rarely felt natural anymore.

That didn't mean that he wasn't happy. He liked his new teammates and he was adjusting to life in this strange new time period. He just wasn't the same after the ice.

He stood and dropped the rather crumpled paper to the table. He made his decision and strode toward the staircase. When he got to the lab doors, he had a moment of pause as he raised his fist to knock. Stark was a genius. Maybe he really was working on something important—curing cancer important. Right as he was about to turn around and try to read that article for the thousandth time, the doors slid open. Steve was left with his fist awkwardly held up by his face, poised to knock.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Cap?" Came Stark's voice from across the lab. "You don't have to knock. JARVIS lets me know when anyone shows up at the door."

"Right," Steve said, somewhat caught off balance by the intelligent door. "Do you have a minute?"

"For you?" Tony said, leering at him from around a full suit of Iron Man armor. "I might have 30 seconds."

Steve glowered at the genius, feeling the burning irritation begin to rise in his chest again.

"No time for actually being an Avenger, is that right?"

Stark's head snapped up and he took a closer look at the Super Soldier.

"What's got your star-spangled panties in a bunch, Cap?" He brushed his hands off on his jeans, only smearing them further with grease and oil. "You did just come barging into _my_ workshop."

" _Barging_ _in_ —listen," Steve ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You missed the briefing today. You _swore_ you would be there—we actually had a lot of important information to go over—and you casually decided to skip."

Stark opened his mouth to talk, but Steve interrupted.

"You can't just be a part of the team if you only do the parts that you _like_ ," he said. "Nobody really loves briefings, but I need you to participate. How am I supposed to lead you on the battlefield if you won't pay attention to the little things."

Stark twirled a small, expensive-looking tool in his hand. "Cap," he said, "you've read my file. I don't play well with others. Doesn't mean I don't respect you, big guy, but don't expect me to coming running every time you call."

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Stark cut him off. Steve was sure this was intentional and malicious.

"You know a crisis and a briefing are different things, Cap. I've got your back out there. Just maybe lay off with the whole, 'we're soldiers' thing." Stark made obnoxious air quotes. "Because we're not. I'm an inventor, and you're a four-thousand-year-old popsicle with a stick up his ass."

Steve's hands balled up in fists and he took a step toward Stark before his brain could relay the 'calm down' signal to his muscles.

Stark's eyes flew wide and he said, "shit!" right before he dove at Steve. Though Tony was no NFL quarterback, his tackle was fueled by desperation, and he managed to topple Steve over. For weeks, Steve would protest that it was because he was off-balance in that moment. Tony never let it die.

A gold Iron Man suit shot just inches by them. Steve felt the heat of the thrusters on his face.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Stark muttered, pushing off of Steve and making a mad dash for the nearest keypad.

He input a few numbers, muttering something about a manual override, and watched the suit warily. It stood and raised its arm, readying a shot from its palm.

"Power down," Stark shouted, making some kind of slashing motion with his hands.

Steve leapt to his feet, mind reeling from suddenly being attacked.

"What the hell is happening, Stark?"

"Whoa there, Cap," Stark said, sparing him a quick glance as he turned back to the keyboard. "Careful, you might say something even more vulgar."

"Seriously, Stark?" Steve growled, moving slowly toward the inventor with a wary gaze on the suit. "We're being attacked by one of your suits and you're going to check me for language?"

"Well, technically it's just you who's being attacked," Tony said brightly, fingers moving at lightning speed. "See, all of my suits are programed to protect me, The Creator."

Steve snorted at the title.

"And also," Tony said, "It's not a suit, it's a drone."

Steve furrowed his brow, instinctively putting his body between Stark and the golden suit as it stalked toward them.

"Now it thinks you're trying to kidnap me or something," Stark muttered. "Try to move away from me and see if we can confuse it while I fix this bug and get the override working."

Steve reluctantly left Stark vulnerable, with his back turned to the suit, and edged carefully away from him.

This didn't stop the suit's advance, however, and Steve realized he was going to be facing hand-to-hand grappling without his shield.

"Tony," Steve asked, the billionaire's first name slipping from his lips as his mind focused solely on the task at hand. "Any tips on taking this thing down?"

"If I can get it shut off, you won't have to take it down," Stark said. "It's kind of designed to go against enhanced humans and stand a chance, so you may want to play it safe."

Steve ducked as a metal fist flew at his face, spinning to avoid the knee that the suit intended to send into his gut.

"Stark," Steve grunted, "I thought you were some kind of genius. Now would be a great time to showcase that particular skill set."

Stark turned a fake affronted look to Steve. "You focus on the robot trying to kill you. I will _also_ focus on the robot that's trying to kill you. Fighting the battle on two fronts or something, that's got to be a concept you're familiar with."

Steve glared over at Stark, although now the man's back was turned and he was speaking in a low voice with JARVIS. Steve turned his attention back to the golden Iron Man. Grappling with a suit that looked exactly what Stark wore (minus the color scheme) left a strange, twisting feeling in his stomach. In his head, he continuously repeated the words, _not Stark, not Stark, not Stark._ He would never forgive himself for hurting one of his teammates, even though he still kind of wanted to strangle Stark.

Just a little.

Steve cried out as the suit used the repulsors to fire a quick blast along his chest. The searing heat only burned along the left side of his ribs, but it was enough to slow him down. The suit sent a metal fist into his face, stunning him, and bent his forearm back at a painful angle before giving a precise push. Red flooded Steve's vision as he felt the bones in his forearm snap.

He choked down a scream, but he knew he hadn't fully succeeded.

"Hang on, Cap," came Stark's frantic voice. "Hang on, Steve!"

Through a haze of pain and what was probably a minor concussion, Steve saw the eye lights power down. The suit became dead weight over Steve's body, so he used his shaking left arm to lever the weight off of himself. His right arm was clutched protectively against his chest. The left side of his chest burned, his arm throbbed obscenely, and his head pounded. Now that he thought about it, he could taste blood in his mouth. He lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of the workshop.

"Oh God, Cap?" Stark hit his knees next to Steve, hands roaming over his body to identify his injuries.

"Talk to me, Steve," Stark said. "Where are you hurt? Other than the arm. I can—" Stark swallowed down a gag reflex, "I can see that one."

Steve blinked rapidly to clear his mind, trying to focus on the frantic man who hovered above him.

"I'm fine, Stark, really," Steve said, fighting down the bile in his throat. No matter how super you were, a compound fracture brought on the nausea. "Help me sit up."

Stark put his hands under his shoulders and helped Steve to a more vertical position.

"Look, we need to get me to Bruce or to SHIELD medical before the break starts healing," Steve said, breathless from the injuries. "You know how fast I heal. This won't keep me down for long."

After some moaning and heaving, Stark got Steve to his shaky feet. They struggled up the stairs, making their way to a waiting Bruce. JARVIS had informed him. He hovered over Steve, gently touching and examining his injuries.

"Tony," Bruce said, "We need to get him to SHIELD medical. They have the proper imaging equipment to get this arm set."

Bruce looked at Steve with those large, gentle eyes. "What happened, Steve?"

Steve rolled his eyes over to Tony, raising an eyebrow at the engineer. "We had something of a malfunction in the lab."

Tony grinned at Steve behind Bruce's back. That sounded like forgiveness.

"Come on, Brucie," Tony said, getting a shoulder under Steve's arm to help him stand. "Let's get the Star Spangled Man with a Plan to medical before his arm heals in some gruesome shape."

Low enough so that Bruce couldn't hear, Tony said, "I'm sorry, Steve. No more malfunctions in the lab."

"Maybe make it to my briefing next time," Steve said. He softened it with a pain-ridden grin.

"You've got it, Cap," Tony said, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Even though it sounded like Tony had choked over the apology, Steve felt a smile break out on his face. Through the haze of pain, he realized that his anger had evaporated. Maybe this eccentric lunatic could be a friend after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Wonderful New Year (almost)!**

 **This chapter is very personal for me. It's one of the reasons that Iron Man is my favorite superhero. I struggle with anxiety and panic attacks, so it was inspiring for me to see Tony struggle with some of the same things in Iron Man 3. The panic attack that I write in this chapter is based on my personal experience. To anyone out there that's dealing with panic and anxiety, you're another one of my favorite superheroes! Always keep fighting!**

"Tony! Hey, Tony!" Bruce's voice came into focus as Tony blinked open bleary eyes. The scientist was right over him, hands shaking his shoulders.

"Get off," Tony grumbled, sitting up on the couch and pushing the other man away. His heart was racing and he could feel the galloping pulse against the casing of the arc reactor. He resisted pressing his hand to the cool metal. He knew it was there.

Bruce was looking at him like he was missing an eye or something.

"What's up, doc?" Tony mocked, trying to push away the feel that something was terribly wrong.

"You were yelling," Bruce said. "I thought you were in trouble. When I came in here, I saw you were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you."

"Yeah, just another nightmare about someone shaving my magnificent facial hair while I slept," Tony said, trying his hand at a laugh. It came out a little shaky.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and gave him a disapproving look, but his eyes were alight with concern.

"You know you can talk to me," Bruce said hesitantly, looking down at his hands. "You know, just if you…want to talk."

"Right," Tony said.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Tony stood up abruptly. "I told our distinguished captain that I would meet him downstairs for some training after lunch. I'd better hurry before he decides to court martial me for being late or something."

Bruce snorted and reached for a book on nuclear physics he had nearly finished.

 _Just some light reading_ , Tony thought.

When he stepped into the elevator and heard the doors whoosh shut, he let out a breath and leaned his back against the paneling. The muscles in his jaw were clenched so hard that he felt his teeth grinding together. He let his head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. Tremors raced along his arms and legs, nausea churned in his stomach, and a horrible tightness squeezed his chest.

 _I will_ not _have a panic attack,_ he repeated to himself over and over.

His parting words to Bruce hadn't just been a means of escape, he had told Cap that he would be down to the training room to work on some hand-to-hand methods. He couldn't show this broken side of himself to Steve—he was actually pretty fucking pissed that Bruce had caught him in a nightmare. Pepper was really the only who knew about the anxiety, about the panic attacks, about the PTSD. She knew that his dreams often featured scenes from New York, dead, empty space, and Sokovia floating into the clouds. She smoothed his hair and held him close when nothing else worked. She placed her hand over his heart and didn't mind that the arc reactor was in the way. Tony found himself yearning for her touch right now—but no, she had a business to run.

 _I'm not some helpless child that needs comfort. I'm a grown-ass man, and I can handle a little emotional distress. Okay, a lot. Dammit, don't focus on it._

He pulled his focus intentionally to his fingernails, picking absently at his cuticles as the elevator doors slid open. Steve was already there, in his grey t-shirt— _does that man have_ any _idea how to buy clothes in his size?—_ and black athletic shorts, slamming his fists against the patched punching bag in the corner.

Steve raised a hand in greeting as Tony walked toward him. He grabbed the bag to steady it and started to unwrap his hands.

"Tony," Steve said, placing his hand wraps on the bench along the wall. "You here for our sparring? I've been thinking of some new hand-to-hand methods that may work well for you in the suit. You know…"

Steve's voice became fuzzy as Tony's attention went to the sound of his heart beating in his ears. His breathing became a little hitched and he felt the tightness in his chest increase. It was like a heavy weight was settling onto him, slowly crushing his breath. Every time he felt his attention creep back to the sound of his heart, the heavier the weight became.

 _I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. Mind over matter, right?_

He dragged his attention back to the man in front of him.

"…hey are you okay?" Steve was saying, brows furrowing in his classic "momma hen" expression.

"I'm fine, Cap," Tony snapped. "Just a little bored by all of the talky-talk. Less talky-talk, more punchy-punch. Come on."

He stepped onto the mat and they started to warm up with a familiar sequence.

Once Tony was starting to breathe a little harder, Steve cranked the intensity up a little bit. He showed Tony the new moves that he had created for Iron Man, going through them slowly at first to teach the engineer.

"Does that one make sense?" Steve asked, having Tony go through the hold with him.

"Yup," Tony grunted.

Steve gave him a strange look, but continued to the next set. As they worked through the movements, Steve's arm snaked around Tony's neck. The whole point was to learn the countermeasure for this hold, but something clicked in Tony's brain.

Adrenaline flooded his stomach, shutting off his body's rational response. He flailed against Steve, using every ounce of strength he possessed to free himself from the larger man's hold. He heard Steve yelp as his elbow made contact with something, but he wasn't thinking about his captain.

He had to get _away._

Tony darted away from Steve, tripping over his own feet. He sprawled on the mat, scrambling back to him feet as quickly as he could. He sprinted to the locker room, oblivious to the fact that Nat and Clint had just arrived in the training room.

Safely in the locker room, Tony fell to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the floor. He let out a whimper as he struggled to breathe. Somewhere in his brain, he knew that there was nothing obstructing his lungs. Everything worked, but _he_ didn't work. He fought back a sob that triggered his gag reflex. He retched, but nothing came up. His breaths came shakily and uneven. He clenched his hands together under his forehead, trying to still the trembling.

Tony didn't hear the door open, but suddenly there was a warm hand on his shoulder. He started and scooted away until his back hit the cold lockers. Wild-eyed and out of breath, Tony stared up at Steve. His lips and his hands tingled with unused adrenaline.

Steve didn't touch him again. He scooted next to Tony, leaning against the same wall of lockers. Tony knew that their captain could be silent on a mission, but his breathing was audible in the quiet locker room. It was comforting. Something to focus on as Tony brought his body back under control.

The door swung open quietly. Clint didn't say anything, but he placed a glass of cool water next to Tony's right hand. Then he left.

Minutes passed, but Steve showed no sign of impatience. He didn't shift around. His gaze occasionally lifted to Tony's face, but he mostly stared at a piece of floor past their feet.

As the irrational, uncontrollable fear began to abate, Tony began to feel a burning shame. His teammates were never supposed to see this side of him. He was supposed to be the super-genius asshole of the group, always ready to pour a drink or cuss out a villain. He wanted to apologize to Steve, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he reached for the glass of water, bringing it to his lips with shaky hands.

Before he could say anything, maybe make a joke and escape as quickly as possible, Steve started to speak.

"You know, war was a nightmare," he said. "I saw men blown to pieces, I saw guys lose arms, legs on the battlefield. I looked men in the eye and said, 'you'll be okay, you're going to make it,' when I knew they weren't going home."

Tony stared at him, but Steve was looking down at his shorts with single-minded focus, picking at the logo absently.

"I saw all of that happen," Steve continued. "I pushed it down and locked it up in my mind. I had the serum, right? Nothing was supposed to be able to touch me."

He smiled ruefully then, pausing for a moment. Tony could see that he was lost in a memory.

"Anyway," Steve said, shaking his head. "During one mission I lost a soldier named Charlie. He was young, but he had a dame—sorry, lady—back home. I held it together until we got back to camp, this vise tightening around my chest the whole way. Bucky found me later that night."

He sighed. "The point is, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing you need to hide. I'm not going to pity you, I'm certainly not going to bench you."

Tony finally found his voice again. "Cap, I'm a liability. What if this happens during a battle?"

Tony felt shock rush through him as he realized what he had just said. Those were deep, dark fears that he had just shone a spotlight on.

Steve levered himself to his feet, brushed his hands against his shorts, and offered Tony a hand.

"You're not going to freeze in the field, Tony," he said, pulling the smaller man to his feet. "You're out there handling things every other day. And if you did? JARVIS would take over and probably actually follow my orders for once."

A smile crinkled the skin around the Captain's blue eyes.

Tony felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Nah, I have JARVIS programmed to be just as ornery as I am."

He walked on shaky legs back to the training room. Clint and Nat greeted them as though nothing had happened, inviting Steve and Tony to join them in the shooting range.

 _Shooting the shit out of stuff sounds fun,_ Tony thought to himself. Maybe Tony Stark wasn't perfect—God forbid the general masses find that out—but his team rocked, and they didn't mind his flaws.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey Tony," Steve heard the strain in his own voice. "Come on, Tony, answer me."

Maybe he was feeling a little frantic, but that was acceptable. He and the Avengers' resident genius were now buried under literal tons of building. Assuming that Tony had also survived the fall, they were going to have one hell of a time getting out.

Steve shifted and moaned, pain lancing through his chest as bruised ribs protested the movement. His left shoulder was also screaming at him, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't dislocated. Some other injury, then. The air was thick with settling dust, and the space was pitch black. Steve pushed himself to his hands and knees, wincing in the cover of the dark, and started to gently move his hands along the floor. He thought his eyes might adjust, but they hadn't so far.

The reactor. Steve felt his stomach drop as he thought of the glowing blue light of the arc reactor embedded in Tony's chest. He would be able to see that if Tony was nearby. Assuming that his chest wasn't covered by rubble. Steve bit down a moan as a spike of pain went through his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut—not that there was any light to block out—and shifted his weight to his knees. He brought one hand up to his head, lightly touching the source of the pain. The skin along his hairline felt sticky and matted, and he didn't need to see to know his hand came away stained with blood.

"Tony," he croaked, throat full of dusty air. "Tony, can you hear me?"

Rubble shifted behind Steve. He did his best to turn quickly, but he was in a small space and his days of being little and maneuverable were over. His heart pounded in his throat.

 _Either we're about to die, or Tony survived. Come on, Tony, don't leave me down here alone._

"Steve?" It was more a whisper than Steve had ever heard from Tony.

"Tony!" Steve shuffled forward as quickly as he dared. "Thank God you're alive!"

"Shit…Steve," he could hear something like fear in Tony's voice. "Keep your giant, ridiculous, Super Soldier ass on that side of the room. I think the rubble is about to shift again."

As if Tony's words had been the final straw, rubble began to fall around them. A huge weight struck Steve in the upper back. The force drove him to his stomach, crushing the air from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut at the shock, gasping noisily as he struggled to draw in air.

He heard Tony's shout as if from miles away.

 _I have to get over to him. He's trapped, he's probably injured. He could be dying. I have to get_ up.

Steve pushed up with shaking arms, grunting as the rubble fell to the side. He hadn't _forgotten_ Tony's insistent request that he stay away, but he was choosing to ignore it. He crawled over to where he remembered Tony's voice coming from, trying to block out the ache from the ever-growing list of injuries his body was dealing with.

 _I'll heal. I can take it._

His hand suddenly hit something cold and smooth to the touch. Metal.

"Hey there, Cap," came Tony's voice. "You wanna stop groping me?"

Steve jerked his hand back. He glared in the general direction of Tony's voice.

"Why can't I see the reactor?" He asked. He felt panic seep into his voice. Tony needed the reactor to survive.

"Relax, Steve," Tony said, making it perfectly clear that they had other things to worry about. "There's—" he grunted, "a piece of—" another sound of strain, "concrete on my chest. I can't budge it."

"Okay," Steve said, running through the options in his head. "Let me see if I have a better angle on it."

He found the armor on Tony's leg and followed it up to his torso. He swallowed hard when he felt the slab of concrete on the other man's chest.

"Tony, can you breathe?" It seemed like a stupid question. He was speaking, so he was getting air. But being in the pitch dark with a slab of concrete pinning him down was a recipe for a panic attack. Steve needed to know how urgent this was.

"Yeah," Tony grunted without his signature snark. "Sooner may be better than later."

 _Translation, he needs out—now._

Steve curled his fingers around the slab of concrete, making sure his grip was good. He stood as upright as he could, slamming his already aching head on the 'ceiling.'

"Careful," Tony said breathlessly.

"How nice to know you care," Steve muttered, focusing on the energy he was going to need.

Tony reached up, fumbling around until he found Steve's forearm. "Ah, there you are. The faceplate is irreparably damaged, so I tossed it somewhere around here. Also, this gauntlet."

Steve realized that Tony was gripping him with warm, human fingers instead of the cold metal of his suit.

"That's why you couldn't lift if off yourself?" Steve asked, preparing himself to lift the slab. He tested his strength against its weight.

 _Even with the serum, I'm barely going to be able to budge this. With my shoulder…_

He rolled the joint experimentally, hoping that he wasn't going to damage anything permanently.

"Okay, Tony," he huffed. "I'm going to lift on three. Roll toward me."

Tony grunted in affirmation, giving his forearm a little squeeze before letting go.

"One, two, three." Steve's count turned into a groan as he levered up with all of his might. He felt the protesting shifts from the piled rubble around him, so he tried to lift just enough to get Tony free. No need to make anything else collapse. His groan turned into a shout as something tore in his shoulder. The joint refused to take any weight, and he dropped the slab of concrete with a resounding crack.

"Tony?" He gasped, trying to think clearly through the haze of pain.

"Yup," He heard the engineer's breathless voice. "I made it. No harm done to my beautiful face."

Tony seemed to be calmer now. His sense of humor was back, which meant the panic was probably under control.

Steve's body started to tremble as adrenaline rushed through him to dull the pain. "God, Tony," I thought you were done for." He tried to lower himself to the ground, but ended up falling on his ass rather clumsily.

He saw the worry in Tony's eyes.

 _Wait, I can see?_

The blue light of the reactor threw light and shadows in the confined space. Twisted metal structural bars protruded from the concrete rubble. Steve couldn't imagine how much that would hurt. It would be a really fast way to puncture a valuable internal organ.

Tony's face was scratched and bruised along the jawline. His lip was split and a mostly-clotted cut sliced through his right eyebrow. He appeared to be fine, despite the scratching and denting on the chest plate of his armor.

Tony's mouth was moving, but he didn't appear to be speaking. His eyebrows furrowed and he reached out to grab Steve's arm.

 _What the hell is he doing?_

The world came rushing back to Steve was Tony shifted his arm. White hot pain exploded in Steve's shoulder, burning along his arm and chest.

"Steve? Steve? Oh fuck there's a piece of fucking metal in your shoulder," Tony had gone pale, moving around the see the back of Steve's left shoulder.

"Just tore something," Steve said, surprised at how slurred his voice sounded.

"Well, you probably did that too," Tony muttered, "but there's a six inch shard of rebar sticking out of your shoulder blade, you ass. Did you not think to mention that you were bleeding?"

Steve was finding it difficult to focus on Tony's words, but he did think it was rather unfair to be blaming him. After all, he had just freed Tony from his concrete prison.

Tony put his face close to Steve's.

"Hey Steve, you've gotta stay with me, Cap. Think happy thoughts. What passes for happy in the Great Depression?" Tony frowned, fingers dancing over the manual releases of his suit to reach the shirt underneath. He pulled it off and pressed the fabric to Steve's shoulder. " Just think about bald eagles and fireworks or something."

 _Why is he freaking out? I'm here, aren't I?_

He tried to say something, tried to point out that he was a little beat up, but mostly fine. He tried to say a lot of things, but a pesky grey haze was beginning to crowd his vision.

 _Huh, maybe Tony was onto something._

Then darkness.

.

.

Steve rose for a breath of consciousness from a pool of troubled dreams. As he became aware of his surroundings, the dreams began to fade, but the feeling of trouble remained.

His skin itched.

Steve noticed a rhythmic beeping and the sound of something tapping away. He cracked open his eyelids and groaned as the light tore through his head.

"Hey sleeping beauty, you up?"

Steve knew Tony's voice anywhere.

"Oh are you about to ask me what happened? Well, let me fill you in."

Now Tony sounded annoyed.

"You, in all of your I-would-rather-die-than-tell-anyone-about-my-massive-injuries wisdom, argued with me for a solid ten minutes—"

Tony's voice got louder and more agitated.

Steve turned his head to take in the dirty, exhausted looking billionaire. He stood and started to pace.

"—while you bled out—"

Steve winced. He was practically shouting now.

"—and nearly died from a damn concussion, while we were trapped under God-knows-how-many tons of fucking concrete!"

Tony stomped back over and collapsed into the chair. "So you'll forgive me if I'm a little upset."

"Um." Steve was at a loss. "Thank you?"

"Don't thank me, you stupid son of a bitch," Tony glared at him. "Look after yourself and _tell me_ when you're hurt."

Steve blushed and looked down at his hands, nervously picking at the tape that secured his IV.

Tony gently swatted at his hand. "Don't do that."

"I'm sorry," Steve said hesitantly. "I honestly didn't think things were that bad. I'll tell you in the future."

"Right," Tony said with a sigh. "That was probably the blood loss. Or the shock. Maybe the concussion. You can't lead us if you're dead, Steve."

Steve's eyes snapped up to the older man. His head was aching, his shoulder throbbed, and his ribs twinged when he breathed, but he was determined to see this through.

"I don't have a death wish, you know," Steve said quietly. "Maybe I did at first. Everyone I knew was gone, so I thought I should be gone too."

Tony was staring at him now. "I didn't know that."

"You wouldn't," Steve said with a sad smile. "I don't volunteer that kind of information. But I like it here. I like our team and I like the tower. I like being a part of this."

Tony was uncharacteristically silent, letting Steve finish.

"I would do anything to protect you, you know," Steve said. "You, Nat, Bruce, Clint, Thor—though he doesn't seem to need much help—"

Tony snorted.

Steve sighed. His train of thought plowed ponderously through his mind, making his head ache. He was sure there was more to say, but he couldn't put the pieces together.

"Rest, Cap," Tony said, giving his uninjured shoulder a quick squeeze. "Just do me one favor?"

Steve hummed in response as the exhaustion started to pull him into sleep.

"Add yourself to that list."

The last thing Steve saw before he fell into a peaceful sleep was Tony Stark settling back into the chair beside his bed.


	5. Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part One

Hey everyone! Thank you for reading! A quick update on why this chapter took so long; I have been studying for and taking my teacher certification exams. Now that that's all over, I should be back to updating at my regular pace—one chapter per week. I hope you enjoy!

–Marvelous Winchester

.

.

.

 **Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part One**

.

.

.

Tony limped across his workshop to type hurriedly into the keypad on his desk. His eyes weren't focused on the output as it appeared on the monitor. He was in his head right now. His fingers flew across the keys, trying to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. His typing slowed as he finished inputting the code, finally focusing on the screen for a quick scan.

"Alright, JARVIS," he said. "Give that a whirl. I would prefer to avoid a horrible injury next time I call the gauntlet."

"Of course, sir," came the clear voice of the AI.

Tony leaned his weight wearily against the desk as he waited for JARVIS to scan for bugs.

Their mission earlier that day had been a challenge.

Tony was used to things getting hairy—in fact, he often _caused_ the hairy situations. But this time was different. Ninety percent of his team had either limped away from the battle or had to be carried. Tony knew that his left knee was a mess. He had to use the suit's internal mechanisms to hold it steady, and he had slapped a brace on the mangled joint as soon as they reached the Tower. But he wasn't the worst for wear by a long shot.

Clint had been knocked unconscious sometime during the battle. The blow to his head wrapped around to his face, purple bruises blossoming along his temple and jawbone. Tony had carried him to the jet, vision wavering from the throbbing pain in his knee. Steve had managed to get himself and Natasha to the jet, despite a grotesquely broken left arm and enough bruising to his ribcage to leave most men grounded. The super soldier would heal faster than the rest, but even his advanced healing capabilities wouldn't be able to make him battle-worthy anytime soon.

Natasha was fine, save for an arrow through her right quadricep. Nobody was sure where it came from, and Tony knew it wasn't one of Clint's—he had made them, after all. Bruce was exhausted, Thor was a little bloodied, and Tony was nursing an injury that he didn't feel like mentioning to his team. They had been through enough. He would eventually hobble up to the medical floor and have someone take a look at it.

"Sir, the prototype is ready for testing." JARVIS's voice was soft, almost concerned. "May I suggest that you leave this for another time?"

Tony's vision was starting to grey around the edges, so he gave in with a sigh. He stiffly limped over to the worn couch and lowered himself onto the comfortable fabric. He moaned as his actions jostled the swollen knee.

Without having to be asked, JARVIS dimmed the lights to 10 percent, closing down the displays that held Tony's calculations.

.

.

.

Steve awoke to the sound of a blaring siren. He started, throwing the covers back, instantly choking back a moan and cradling his casted left arm.

"JARVIS," he yelled over the siren. "What's going on? What does the siren mean?"

JARVIS's cool, automated voice played as the siren cut off. "Captain, I apologize for waking you. There are intruders in the Tower. The siren is only audible in each Avenger's room. Your quarters are soundproof, as I hope you know. I advise caution and silence if you choose to leave."

Steve pushed himself up out of bed, wincing as he aggravated his knitting ribs. Of course he was going to leave the room—he had to protect his team.

"Before you leave, Captain," JARVIS said, "I suggest you take advantage of my knowledge to have a better understanding of your surroundings."

Steve nodded tightly. "Brief me."

.

.

.

Tony's torrential stream of cursing was brought to a halt by a hot, nauseating pain in his knee.

"Fuck," he gasped, hands hovering over the joint but afraid to make contact.

"Sir, please remain still," JARVIS said. "I am running a medical scan on your person."

"I'm fine," Tony groaned, realizing that his denial sounded more like a cry for help. The sound of the alert had startled him from a light, troubled sleep. He had jumped from colorful, dizzying dreams to a short fall from the couch. His knee had not agreed with the quick stop at the bottom.

"JARVIS, I just need to know what's going on," he said. "What triggered the alert? Where's the Tower breached?"

"You have damage in your knee that goes beyond 'taking it easy.'"

 _How the hell does he manage to make air quotes with his voice? I don't remember programming that._

Tony glared at nothing, directing his frustration at his AI. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "So my knee's a little banged up—I need information, and I need it now. Don't make me override you."

JARVIS made a small noise that could be classified as "disapproval" or perhaps "concern."

"There are four teams of intruders in the Tower," he said. "They have already dismantled some of the surveillance capability I possess and are heading toward the communal floor. My research into their backgrounds suggests that they may be after Captain Rogers' vibranium shield."

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Tony muttered as he pushed himself to his feet, blinking as his vision nearly whited out from the strain. He thanked nobody in particular that he had thought to use his specially-designed brace earlier. It wouldn't prevent the puke-inducing pain, but it would probably prevent more damage to the joint. Provided somebody didn't shoot him in the knee or set him on fire.

 _Knowing me, those things will probably happen simultaneously._

"Alright, JARVIS, what suits have I got?"

"None," he could practically taste the sarcasm, "sir. You have managed to reduce yourself to zero fully-functioning Iron Man suits. Given the time, we could likely piece the functioning pieces together and create one battle-ready suit."

This time Tony practically threw something at the wall. He knew JARVIS wasn't secretly living in the paneling, but it would feel good to express some of the frustration.

"Do I have functioning gauntlets?"

"The left and right are functioning at 45.7% and 16% respectively, but they are indeed…available."

"Geez, JARVIS," Tony muttered, staggering over to the table and fitting the gauntlets on his arms. "No need to be such a smartass."

"I take after my creator, sir." JARVIS said, making a noise that resembled a sigh. "I have briefed Captain Rogers on the situation. He has informed me that he has his shield and is coming down to get you."

"Get me?" Tony sputtered, aghast that he was seen like some maiden in distress. "You can tell his ass that I'm coming up to get _him_."

At that moment, something heavy slammed into the door. Tony heard what might have been cursing before the door slid open and their resident super soldier staggered in with Clint in tow.

"I thought you were some kind of genius," Clint glared, hair mussed from sleep and eyes red against the colorful bruising on his face. "How the hell are people breaking into your Tower?"

"Oh _now_ it's _my_ Tower," Tony snarled, pushing off from the couch to limp over to them. He ended up whimpering as his knee buckled, throwing his arms out to catch himself on the nearest desk surface. Papers, pens, and tools toppled to the workshop floor, clattering as Steve strode over to Tony.

"What did you do to your leg, Tony?" He demanded.

Tony could tell that Steve was in a fair amount of pain himself. He walked with a hitch—most likely from ribs that had yet to heal—and his casted arm had to be throbbing angrily. Steve deposited his shield on the ground next to Tony as he pushed the other man's pant leg up gently. He whistled and winced in sympathy as he caught a glimpse of the mottled, swollen skin beneath the brace. The sweat pants caught on the top of the brace, keeping Tony's knee out in the open.

Clint's glare because a little less intense, touched with a hint of remorse. "Man, you really know how to mess yourself up," he said. "Was that from earlier, or did you somehow manage to do that to yourself down here?"

"Earlier," Tony said shortly, leaning down to yank his pant leg back over the brace. "I was planning on getting it looked at, but I fell asleep and then everything went to hell."

"You should've gotten it looked at when we got back, jackass," Clint snorted.

"Wow," Tony growled, "maybe I didn't want to be in medical with the rest of you because you call me names," he finished with a mutter, "dickwad."

Steve shot them both a reproachful glare, obviously almost out of patience.

"If you two could knock it off, we have a small problem to deal with," he said through gritted teeth.

"Right," Tony said, faking enthusiasm. "And tell me again, who here is capable of moving on their own and fighting a battle?"

Steve straightened back up with an _almost_ inaudible grunt of pain. "I can do what I need to—I heal pretty fast."

Steve looked hopefully at Clint.

"No luck, Cap," Clint shrugged. "I'm still pretty concussed. I barfed all over the place when the alarm went off—I blame you, by the way—" he said, pointedly looking at Tony, "and I can barely see straight. I would just as likely shoot one of you two clowns."

Tony powered up both gauntlets, watching the metal glide from his forearms to cover his hands, repulsors whining as they came online.

"So just a recap—Steve, you're mobile-ish, you've got one good arms, and a blow to the chest will probably bring you to a grinding halt," Tony said airily. "Clint, you look like you fell face-first into a palette of _Midnight Hues_ eyeshadow, your aim is shot, and you're basically useless."

Clint shot him a grin. " _And_ , I'm still nauseated, so that's exciting."

Tony set his face in determination. "Alright, here's how this is going to go. Obviously, we need to find the others and make sure everyone is okay. Clint, you're going to be my crutch so I can actually fire these gauntlets, Steve you're going to be our shield, and JARVIS is going to help us booby-trap the shit out of these fuckers."

.

.

.

PART TWO COMING NEXT WEEK!


	6. Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part Two

**Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part Two**

.

.

.

Part three coming next week!

.

.

.

Tony shuffled along the hall with a grunt. His knee throbbed angrily, sending shooting pain up through his thigh with every step—but he was taking them. His right arm was locked around Clint's neck, the archer's left shoulder dug into Tony's armpit. He had even had the courtesy to retract the gauntlet on his right arm to avoid blowing Clint's face off—after Clint had demanded that he retract it. Tony was appalled that Clint thought something he had designed would _misfire_ , but he had grudgingly agreed. He was going to have a hard time making it anywhere without his human crutch, and Tony was really the only member of their rag-tag band that had an offensive weapon. Sure, Steve's shield was a force to be reckoned with—definitely offensive—but he was going to have a hard time slinging the shield with cracked ribs and a broken arm. They had had that rather irritating conversation before making their way out of the workshop.

" _Stark, I'm fine," Steve had practically growled at him. Tony had noticed that it was only "Stark" when Steve felt like he needed to pull rank nowadays. It had used to always be "Stark."_

" _Sure, Rogers," Tony had sneered back, just as unimpressed by Steve's demanding, self-sacrificing, I-can-do-whatever-needs-to-be-done-even-if-I'm-killed Captain America shit-show attitude as ever. Tony Stark didn't cower in the face of authority. More often than not, he spit on the shoes of authority before turning around and doing the opposite of what he had been asked. Nobody told him what to do._

 _But that was a vestige of the old Tony Stark attitude. Sure, he wasn't particularly good at following orders now, but he did respect Steve and his leadership of the Avengers—not that he would ever admit that to the Star Spangled Man With a Plan._

" _Look, Steve," Tony had finally ground out. See, he could play well with others. "I know you could go out there and fight if you had to. The serum would heal you, eventually you'd be fine, blah blah blah. Right now you need to act as a strictly defensive measure. You've got your shield, you protect us from the bad guys, capiche?"_

 _Steve had nodded tersely, as if realizing that Tony was actually trying._

Now they were limping down a hall in Avenger Tower as the lights flickered ominously. Steve was leading, shield held in front of him with his good arm. He was moving stiffly, being gentle on his ribs, but Tony knew he would spring into action the moment it was required—Steve was predictable like that. Each man had an earpiece that allowed JARVIS to relay information silently.

"I feel the need to inform you that one of the teams of intruders is nearing your position," JARVIS said through the earpieces. "If you turn right ahead, you will come face-to-face with them in roughly 20 seconds. There are six armed men in this group."

"Shit," Clint whispered, expression dazed. He wasn't one-hundred percent present because of the concussion, but he drifted in and out of focus. Right now he seemed just as concerned as Tony was.

 _Six armed men? Is that something we can handle right now?_

Normally, Tony wouldn't be fazed. Steve alone could wipe out a team of six armed thugs any day of the week. But these men knew who they were after, they had gotten into the Tower too easily, and Steve was not in top form. They could definitely try to make a run for it, but they would likely be in view of the team if they turned left at the hall up ahead, and going back would end up trapping them near the workshop. Not the worst place for a last stand, but they needed to start taking the intruders out.

"Let's do this," Tony whispered. "These bastards are about to find out just how out of their depth they are."

 _I hope_.

"Do you have a plan?" Steve hissed, trying to keep his voice down as he prepared himself to fight.

"Isn't that usually your job, Cap?" Tony asked, allowing a small smile to show Steve that he was ribbing him.

Steve rolled his eyes as he crept closer to the junction of the hallways. Tony could see him itching to glance around and scope out the situation. Evidently JARVIS noticed as well.

"Captain," JARVIS said, "they are headed this direction and will most certainly see you if you attempt to look around the corner."

"Right," Steve whispered. "Good to know. JARVIS, will you give us a count when they're close enough?"

Tony strained to pick up Steve's next words. He was basically just mouthing them at this point.

"I'll go out and surprise them, get some hits in while I can," Steve said. "I may be able to handle them all, but be ready to use your gauntlets, Tony."

He glanced quickly at Clint, blue eyes flashing with worry. "Clint, can you handle this?"

Clint snorted, eyes widening as he belatedly remembered to keep quiet. His snark and sarcasm weren't tempered at all by the concussion. "God I wish Nat was here, she talks less than you babies. Of course I can handle it."

 _Yeah I wish Nat was here too._

Natasha was laid up in SHIELD medical. They were keeping her overnight to make sure that there was no foreign toxin on the arrowhead that injured her. Bruce was sleeping near the bottom of the Tower—Tony had built his floor lower because he knew it was more comfortable for Bruce. With the systems of the Tower on the fritz, Tony wasn't sure that JARVIS would be able to alert him, much less get him up to the communal level. Bruce was an incredible asset as the Hulk, but the Hulk was a little dangerous in confined spaces. Thor had returned to Asgard soon after the mission, so that left Steve, Tony, and Clint to take care of this.

 _We can do this._

Steve spun out into the hallway junction as JARVIS gave the signal. Immediately a hail of bullets pummeled the shield, ripping into the walls and floors. The sound was deafening, so much so that Tony would have clamped his palms to his ears if he had his hands available. As it was, he clenched a handful of Clint's t-shirt in his right hand, raised his left gauntlet, and prepared to limp into the line of fire. Steve was huddled behind his shield, he cast held protectively close to his body. People who didn't know Steve would assume that Captain America had things handled, but Tony could see the stress this was placing on Steve. He was tired and injured, leaning far too heavily on his shield to protect himself. Usually he was moving quickly—striking, lunging, dodging—using the shield as a tool, not as his only defense.

"Alright, Feathers," Tony shouted over the din, "let's do this shit!"

With a grunt of effort, Clint manhandled the two of them into the main bend of the hallways. Steve was tangling with the men, bashing them gracelessly with his shield. He normally wore his symbolic weapon on his left arm, and Tony could tell that he had grown accustomed to it. Steve was athletic as hell, but he was unused to wearing his shield on his opposite arm. Tony winced as one of the men landed a quick fist against Steve's ribs. The super soldier blanched, staggering as his injured ribs took the hit.

"Down," Tony yelled, raising his left hand and firing up the gauntlet. Steve immediately hit the floor, choking on a moan as he did so.

Tony rapidly aimed and fired seven times—okay so he missed once, he wasn't perfect—grinning madly as the intruders dropped like flies. His gauntlet popped and sparked after the last shot. Tony fumbled to get it off before it burned the skin of his forearm.

"That's right, you bastards," Clint whooped, letting a concussion-induced giggle slip free. "Never stood a chance!"

Clint suddenly went pale, eyes growing wide and distant. Tony had just enough warning to twist and land on his good leg when Clint dropped him. The archer staggered over to the wall and collapsed to his knees, retching and coughing as he threw up violently.

Tony looked away and swallowed convulsively over his gag response. "You okay there, buddy?"

Clint whimpered, retching and spitting one more time.

"Sorry, Stark," Clint said on a ragged exhale, sarcasm dripping from his words. "I know you don't have the money or resources to clean up your damn hallways."

Tony felt his lips curl up in a smile. Clint could be knocked down, but he never failed to get right back up.

"Cap, you alright?" Clint's voice was raw, but he was obviously concerned.

Steve was panting rapidly, eyes wet with unshed tears of pain. He glanced over quickly when he heard Clint's voice, embarrassed that they were witnessing his moment of weakness.

"I'll live," Steve ground out abruptly, pushing himself to a seated position with careful, measured breaths. He looked awkward and ungainly as he struggled to hold himself up without using his casted arm or straining his ribs.

"Seriously, Steve," Tony sighed, glaring in frustration at the hard-headed man in front of him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Heat climbed in Steve's face, anger mixed with frustration and embarrassment.

"I don't have to give you every detail, Stark," Steve growled at him.

"Oh please," Tony said, laughing harshly. "Just call me Tony—or smartass—that's what most people do. I know you call me Stark when you're pissed at me."

Steve glared at him suspiciously. "I'm not pissed at you, I just think we need to get moving. There are other intruders we need to take care of."

"Smartass has a point," Clint said, rolling his eyes toward Tony. "You're definitely pissed. Look Cap, we're a team. How would you feel if one of us refused to disclose our injury status?"

"Both of you do that at least once a mission," Steve said, irritation clear in his voice now.

"Okay," Tony said, jumping on the bandwagon. "But do you like it?"

"Obviously I don't."

"So tell us what's going on. We're not going to be able to cover your ass properly if he don't know where you're weak right now." Clint was shakily standing now, leaning his weight heavily against the corridor wall.

"Here, I'll start," Clint volunteered. "I'm so concussed that I'm seeing two jackasses with knee injuries and two star-spangled morons with broken arms. I can't decide if I'd rather puke or sleep, but I sure as hell don't want to be fighting in a hallway with the broken-down cast of 'Where Are the Avengers Today.' Your turn, Smartass."

"Um, well Clint really nailed it," Tony said, choking down his amusement. "My knee is super screwed up. I don't want to think about it right now—and the brace is preventing further injury—but I'm probably going to need surgery. I fucking hate surgery."

A heavy pause filled the now-silent hallway.

"Fine," Steve breathed, sliding his shield off of his arm and letting it clatter to the floor. "My arm is throbbing so much I can barely think straight, my ribs were cracked and now at least one is definitely broken, and I'm not used to fighting with my shield on the wrong arm."

Steve flushed when he realized that the last bit slipped out with a frustrated whine.

Tony barely restrained his urge to tease Steve, but he let out a sigh instead. "There you go, Cap. And look, admitting your injuries didn't kill you outright, so I think you're going to be okay."

Steve glared at Tony again, but this time it didn't hold much heat.

Clint swallowed heavily a few time from his place leaning against the wall and spoke quietly. "Cap, all teasing aside—"

Tony gasped in shock. "I'm not agreeing to that."

Clint shot Tony a look. "—you can trust us. We think you kick ass. We're not going to think less of you because you get knocked down sometimes. Damn, you get up faster than any one of us. I think that's pretty fucking impressive."

Steve looked down at the floor. Tony was uncharacteristically silent.

"Thanks," Steve said simply, slowly pushing himself to his feet.

"As tender and touching as all of this was," Tony drawled, moving gingerly to avoid aggravating his knee, "we should probably wipe out the rest of these guys."

"Agreed," Clint said with a smile. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll puke on them—that'll do the job, right?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "JARVIS, how're we doing?"

"One team down, three more to go, sir."

Steve glanced at the single remaining gauntlet. "Is that going to make it through three more groups, Tony?"

Tony chewed at his lower lip as he ran through possible outcomes in his head. If his math was correct—and it always was—they were going to need a new game plan.

He shrugged. "We're going to have to get creative."


	7. Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part Three

**Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part Three**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **This is the final chapter of the Rag-Tag Tower Defense story, but there are more chapters of Practically Brothers to come! Thank you for reading!**

 **-Marvelous Winchester**

.

.

.

The first group had been a piece of cake. Comparatively, putting those guys down had been as leisurely as a walk in the park. The second group hadn't proved to be so easy.

Steve was currently sitting on his ass, uninjured arm wrapped tightly around his ribs. The last remaining soldier of the second group had managed to knock Cap's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Steve had landed with a thud and a gasp, the air whooshing out of his lungs. Tony now stood behind him, letting the injured super soldier lean his back against his good leg. The other leg trembled uncontrollably, weak despite the support of the brace.

Steve was hacking; coughing deep, painful-sounds barks that brought tears to his eyes. His body was trying to force the air back into his lungs—that much was clear—but his injured ribs were making it difficult.

"Deep breaths, Capsicle," Tony said, voice a little less steady than normal.

Steve coughed again, gagging with the involuntary force. "I'm trying," he gasped, face pale with pain. A wild panic was beginning to touch his eyes.

Clint crouched in front of Steve, unceremoniously yanking up his t-shirt. Dark purple bruises wrapped around his chest, focused mostly on the left side. Combine that with the hideously broken arm, and Tony was shocked that the man even gotten out of bed, never mind taking out the entire second team on his own. He hadn't come away unscathed, but damn.

Steve managed a pinched, wheezing breath through his nose without coughing, then another. Tony could see the panic begin to recede from his face as he brought in more air.

 _He used to have asthma_.

The random fact floated through Tony's mind, read long ago in an old, yellowed manila folder. Gasping for breath wasn't pleasant for anyone, but Steve had suffered with a similar feeling for years. A terrifying reminder of that feeling was enough to bring anyone to the brink of a panic attack.

Tony met Clint's gaze, letting his eyebrows drift up in question. The archer may have been concussed, but he was an excellent field medic. His opinion was valuable here. Should Cap be sidelined, or could he power through?

"Oh come on," Steve wheezed, levering himself up to sit on his own power. He reached for the back of his head with a wince. "I know what you're doing."

He glared at Clint, turning his head with a flinch of pain to glare at Tony as well.

The corners of Clint's mouth tightened with worry as he gently felt the wounds on Steve's ribs. A muscle in Steve's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth through the pain, but he didn't make a sound.

"I don't think we're really in a position to be choosy here," Steve ground out. Tony could tell something was off with the other man. His gaze was uncharacteristically vacant, despite his tone.

Clint finished his quick exam and shrugged at Tony, pulling Steve's shirt back down with a sigh. "You're definitely going to need multiple days to heal from this, Cap," he said. "But I don't think any of this is life-threatening for you."

Tony felt a spark of hope, staggered toward the wall for support. He bent down to adjust the brace, trying to hide his alarm at the swelling and bruising around the joint. Clint meandered over to him, unsteady on his feet and looking more out of it than Tony would prefer.

"Hmm," Clint said, poking gently at the swollen knee. "You're going to need some medical imaging to know what's going on in there, but you will probably—definitely—need surgery."

Tony groaned, "I fucking thought so."

"'Probably definitely', Agent Barton," came JARVIS's dry tone. "Is that your official diagnosis?"

Clint smiled good-naturedly at the ceiling, losing his balance at the sudden move of his head. "Yup, it's official."

Tony reached out to steady Clint as Steve finally pushed himself to his feet. Despite his imposing height and broad, muscular frame, Steve looked more like an injured child. His casted arm was pulled tightly to his left side, right arm wrapped around his chest to protect his ribs. He let go with a grunt as he reached down for his shield, but stopped mid-motion and groaned back to standing.

"Two more teams to go until the Tower is clear," JARVIS said.

Clint started to giggle. Tony stared at him in exasperation, looking to Steve for backup, but he saw their captain shaking with quiet laughter. It obviously jostled his ribs, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Alright," Tony growled, "what the hell is wrong with you two?"

"I'm sorry," Clint gasped, "it's just hilarious! Earth's mightiest defenders, brought down by some freaking house invaders!"

Steve shuffled over to the wall, leaning against it as he shook with silent laughter.

"Seriously?" Tony said. "Seriously? You're both going to go slap happy on me at the same time? Pull it together, guys—damn it, I'm surrounded by idiots."

Tapping his earpiece twice, Tony shifted to a private channel between himself and JARVIS. "Okay buddy," he said in a low voice, "I've got the inklings of a plan."

Tony limped over to Steve and Clint, pushing both men down the wall to seated positions.

"Keep watch," he ordered, fulling expecting them to zone out.

"Yes, sir," Steve said, lazily saluting and giving Tony a wink.

"God, did you hit your head?" Tony muttered some quick instructions to JARVIS and had a scan of Steve and Clint within seconds.

"Sir, it does appear that Captain Rogers has a concussion. According to my visual records, it occurred roughly four minutes and 32 seconds ago."

Tony snorted at the use of "roughly."

"When he was slammed into the ground by the last of the soldiers in the second group, he hit his head with enough force to render an average human male of his size unconscious. It is very likely that the serum is keeping the symptoms to a minimum, though he does appear to be somewhat unaware of his environment."

Tony glanced around to see Steve absently picking at his cast with his right hand. Clint was slapping his hand away gently, gazing at the super soldier with concern. The archer seemed to be past the giggles, looking pale and drawn as the reality of the situation hit him.

Clint pushed himself up and staggered over to Tony.

"Please tell me you have a plan," he said.

"Why don't you go sit your concussed ass down with Captain Slappy over there while JARVIS and I iron things out," Tony said, gesturing toward Steve.

"Yeah, okay," Clint muttered, kneeling beside Steve and snapping his fingers in front of the other man's face. Tony didn't need to be closer to realize that Steve's eyes weren't focusing like normal.

 _He is going to have the worst headache—you know, if the serum doesn't fix things faster than it normally does._

Ironing out the plan didn't take as long as Tony expected. JARVIS projected a small 3D model of the Tower schematics and Tony walked him through some modifications of his security systems. Some re-coding, hotwiring, and brainstorming later, they had a trap laid out for the remaining teams. It took seven and a half minutes.

 _Turns out, having two concussed, practically useless teammates can really motivate a genius. And now we need the bait._

Said bait was looking a little green around the gills, but Steve managed to listen and digest most of what Tony told him.

 _I think._

Basically, Steve just needed to attract the fuckers who had infiltrated the Tower. JARVIS had been keeping them busy with malfunctioning doors, wayward bots, and other creative scare-tactics, but they were converging on the three wounded Avengers.

"Steve, hey, Steve," Tony snapped in from of the super soldier's face. Steve may have been out of it, but he managed a weak glare.

"I'm not stupid, Stark," Steve mumbled. "I can bait the trap. Just like you told me."

"Right," Tony said, offering a hand and pulling Steve to his feet with a groan and a grunt. "Good Lord, you're heavy."

"S'all muscle," Steve slurred.

"Of course," Clint muttered, getting a shoulder under Steve's arm. He huffed out a little breath of air as Steve put more of his weight on him.

"See?" Tony said a little snidely.

Steve stared at Tony's face vacantly. "See what?"

Clint rolled his eyes—thank God he was lucid right now—and said, "Okay Cap, we know they're after your shield, so step one: make some noise and let them know we're here. That will lead them to the entrance of the hall and right into our trap."

Tony snorted. " _Our_ trap. Legolas, you crack me up."

Clint glared, suddenly looking alarmed as Steve made a gagging noise in his throat.

"Don't feel so good," he moaned.

Clint leaned away as Steve buckled and threw up. The archer's nose crinkled as Steve clumsily pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and wiped his mouth.

"I should've been more clear," Tony said, limping over and picking up the shield, "the first step was not concussion-puking all over everything."

Without warning, Tony powered up his right gauntlet and slammed the gold-titanium alloy into the vibranium shield.

"That's right, you bastards!" He yelled. "We'll put you all down, you sons of bitches!"

"Sorry Cap," Tony said with a shrug as the sound of booted feet on hard flooring became louder, "I figured I could lay the trap for you."

Just as the men rounded the corner—JARVIS had said twelve soldiers remained—electricity surged through the hall. The air crackled with power and the smell of burning skin filled the air. Tony turned and covered his head, fully expecting a hail of bullets to careen down the hall, but nothing happened. He heard the sounds of bodies falling and weapons clattering to the floor.

Tony whooped with excitement. "We fucking did it! JARVIS, is the Tower clear?"

"It is, sir. I believe congratulations are in order."

Clint smiled and gave a tired thumbs-up while Steve just groaned.

"Anyone up for a trip to medical?"

.

.

.

Two days later, the team was lounging on the communal floor, chowing down on pizza while watching some mindless TV. Steve was bruised and pale, but the serum was already doing its job. His ribs were knitting and the bruises over his ribs were fading to yellowish green. He claimed that all signs of a concussion were gone, but Tony still occasionally caught him rubbing at the back of his neck with a pained expression. He would be back to 100 percent in no time.

Clint was unabashedly soaking up the attention from every member of the team. The bruising on his face was magnificent, still mottled and purple. He had jealously pointed out that Steve's bruising was nearly gone while his bruising had only gotten more colorful.

Tony's knee was bandaged and braced, tiny incision neatly stitched. The doctors had been impressed by how well his brace had secured the knee. Tony had promised to share the designs with SHIELD Medical so that they could mass produce the braces.

Nat was lazily draped over one of the many couches, bandaged leg extended on a small pile of blankets.

Bruce had joined them minutes ago, hair wild as he jotted down notes in his composition book. It was obvious that he had just come from the lab.

Thor was sitting patiently in Terran street clothes, Mjolnir resting inconspicuously near his feet.

All eyes were on Tony as he animatedly told the story of the Tower Defense. Steve blushed when Tony recounted his concussion antics. Clint glared and said Tony could have left out the detail of him puking in the hall. Tony gesticulated wildly as he told of their last stand, and of the 'genius booby trap' that had saved their lives.

"So why didn't you start there?" Nat asked, peeling a piece of pepperoni off of her pizza.

"Yeah, it sounds like the booby trap could have worked for all four teams," Bruce said.

"I have never questioned your prowess in battle before," Thor said, "but this instance seems to be—what is your phrasing—a 'no brainer'."

"Tony kicked ass," Steve said, his face registering surprise as the words came out of his mouth.

Tony gaped at him, leveled by the praise. Natasha hid a smile by taking a bit of her pizza and Thor grinned at their captain.

"Don't take it to heart," Clint muttered. "He's still concussed."


	8. Plane Frustrating Part One

_Hi, everyone! Sorry for the long delay in updating this story. Wrapping the school year up has been crazy (one more week left!), and my kiddos are ready for summer (as am I). I plan to tell this particular snapshot in three or four chapters. My stories will receive some love over the summer for sure! Thank you for reading!_

 **Plane Frustrating Part 1**

"Tony? Tony? God, Tony please answer." Steve's heart pounded, more from fear than exertion, as he frantically searched for the billionaire.

The heavy scent of pine on misty air assailed his senses. The mist was obscuring his vision and his head pounded. It took a lot to knock him out, and he had been unconscious long enough to lose Tony.

 _Can't lose Tony._

His thoughts were disjointed and painful, but he knew that he had to find his friend. It was all a blur, but he was beginning to piece together the events of the crash. Tony, Steve, and Natasha had been called out on a simple extraction mission. Hop on the Quinjet, fly to point A, kick some bad guy butt, secure the object, fly to point B, deposit the object, fly home—objective complete. It had seemed simple enough. Nat was a certifiable badass when it came to being sneaky, Steve was good at powering his way through seemingly-impossible situations, and Tony could crack any security system. Steve had even _watched_ him dismantle this one and he still couldn't believe it. It certainly reinforced the "genius" facet of Tony Stark's personality.

 _He's really nothing like Howard._

Upon finding himself in the future, Steve had found solace in the fact that Howard's son was alive and well. He had quickly learned that Howard's son was unrelenting, hard-headed, and difficult, but that wasn't really how he viewed Tony now. Tony was still those things, but it all stemmed from a desperate desire to protect the people he loved. Howard may have had those qualities at some time, but Steve knew that Tony's father had withdrawn from his only son. That wasn't the man Steve had known.

A sharp pain in Steve's left knee jostled him from his thoughts.

 _Right, I'm in the forest._

He staggered slightly as his knee throbbed and refused to support his weight. He put out a hand and caught himself on the rough bark of a tree trunk. He let his pounding head sag and rested his chin to his chest for a moment. An uncomfortably long list of injuries were slowly making themselves known. Nothing was life threatening—the serum would take care of them eventually—but they were inconvenient. They were slowing him down and hampering his focus. He needed to find Tony.

A thought scratched against the back of his concussion-boggled mind.

"I'm forgetting something," Steve muttered, a little surprised that he had spoken the words out loud.

"Hey, soldier," came a woman's voice.

Steve spun around, shield raised, ready to engage in battle, but he stopped short when he saw red hair and black leather.

"Natasha," he breathed in relief.

She was holding one of her shoulders higher than the other, favoring the arm on the same side. Steve couldn't tell what the source of the injury was just by looking, but it had to be extremely painful if she was showing it. She was sporting some visible scrapes on her hands and face, but other than those observable injuries, she seemed to be fine.

"Cap," she said simply. "You've looked better. Have you seen Stark?"

"No," Steve grunted, trying to keep his focus on his teammate. "I think I might have a concussion."

Nat's eyebrows shot toward her hairline, and it looked like she might smile for a second. "Is that so?"

Steve felt the muscles between his eyebrows tighten. "Are you making fun of me?"

Natasha strode over to Steve, still holding her right shoulder at a strange angle. "You're bleeding all over one side of your head and you're turning a few nice shades of purple right now. I think it's safe to say that you have a concussion."

Steve grunted, swaying slightly on his feet. It took him a second to remember what he wanted to ask, but he fished desperately in his thoughts.

"Are you okay, Nat? Is there something wrong with your shoulder?"

He reached out without realizing it, but she stepped back quickly with a wince. It wasn't a sign of mistrust—which it would have been soon after Steve had met her—it was a tell of pain. This concerned Steve even more.

She sighed, curling the fingers of her good arm into a fist and extending them repeatedly. "Something is torn or strained, possibly even broken," she said. "I know we don't have the imaging equipment or medical personnel out here to do anything about it, though, so I'm just going to keep it as immobile as possible."

Steve looked down in frustration, shifting his weight and wincing as his knee protested. Everything around him started to shift dizzyingly, and he closed his eyes and fought to keep his stomach somewhat settled.

He felt a gentle hand on his arm. It startled him back into the world, and he snapped his gaze up to Natasha's concerned eyes. The sudden movement caused his stomach to lurch, and he jerked away from her to lean against the tree as he retched. He was able to fight against losing the contents of his stomach, but it was a close call.

Steve moaned and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"God, Steve," Natasha said, "how hard did you hit your head?"

"I dunno," Steve said, exhaustion rushing over him. "I can't remember when I hit it. I just have this cut and it's all tender. It'll be fine, though. I can take the hits."

Natasha glanced at him with an eyebrow raised. "Right," she said. "And you didn't almost just puke up your most recent meal."

He glared at her, uncharacteristically sullen. He staggered to stand upright, letting his hand fall from the support of the rough bark. "We have to find Tony, Nat."

Steve felt himself blanch and closed his eyes as the world lurched and spun. "God, I don't even remember if he was wearing his armor. Do you remember?"

Concern danced through Natasha's eyes, but she concealed it quickly. He knew that it was more for him than anything, but she knew it wouldn't help him to see it. So much of his strength came from his ability to be positive in dark situations. She had such a nuanced understanding of his emotions.

She sighed, "he was wearing his suit, Steve. He probably escaped with fewer injuries than we did."

"If he was wearing his suit, he should have found us by now," Steve said, gazing out into the brush like there would be a clear sign as to where they should look. He decided on a direction and started limping.

"JARVIS could be down," Natasha said as she followed her captain. "He could be hurt in a way that would keep him from coming to find us. He could be trapped."

Steve set his shoulders and tried to force the limp out of his gait. He would walk into hell for any member of his team, even if he knew he wouldn't make it back. He would get Nat and Tony home safely. All three of them were going to make it out of this forest and back to the Tower.

Steve would make sure of it. After all, he was Captain America.


	9. Plane Frustrating Part Two

**Plane Frustrating Part 2**

They were hunting him.

Tony's dark eyes darted around the foggy forest, trying to keep his harsh breathing silent. Just after he had crash-landed in the sodden soil, JARVIS had haltingly informed him that the suit was damaged. The helmet had successfully disengaged before he lost power, but Tony had to claw his way out of the rest of the suit.

Tony huffed out a breath in a frantic laugh—the worst part of a ridiculously strong gold-titanium suit was the fact that it was _ridiculously strong_. He wasn't going to think about the hazy panic that had consumed him when he realized he was trapped. He wasn't going to think about his heart pounding and his throat closing and his world fading—

He wasn't going to think about it.

Tony bounced on his toes and squeezed his hands into fists and stretched his fingers out rhythmically. He was still shaking, but not from being trapped in his own creation. That had not been a thrilling experience, but the real shit show had started after he was free.

After a few moments of relative silence, broken only by the sound of his wheezing breaths, Tony had collapsed to the leafy ground, choking down a sob.

That's when he had heard something.

It was really just a mistake that he had any warning at all. He barely heard the noises of the forest around him over the pounding of his heart and the gasping of his breath, but he'd heard the snap of a twig behind him.

He had whirled, teeth bared, palm outstretched, forgetting that Iron Man lay on the forest floor beside him as he clambered to his feet. The gunman hadn't forgotten. He was dressed in dark brown and green fatigues, obviously meant to blend in with his surroundings. He had dark hair and cruel eyes, but he hadn't raised his gun. Instead, he swung something that glinted in the shafts of sun that penetrated the fog and the leafy canopy of the forest.

One thought made it through Tony's brain before he dropped face-first to the leaves.

 _Holy shit, that's a sword!_

Before Tony had a chance to roll up and try to defend his life, a bullet had punched its way through the swordsman's left eye. Just thinking about it now almost made him lose his lunch. That's when Tony had staggered to his feet and sprinted away from the gristly scene. It tugged at his heart to abandon his suit, but he couldn't go back for it if he was dead.

 _Survive first, rescue the suit later._

Right now, Tony had a mantra.

 _Find Steve, find Nat, keep moving, don't think about the swordsman. Keep moving. Keep. Moving._

A rustling sound off to his right made his heart stutter. He froze, hoping that his cover would be sufficient. He strained his ears to listen as he caught the faint sound of voices.

"We've got to find him." This voice was faint, but masculine.

A sigh. This sounded like a woman. "You know that's what we're trying to do, right?"

"Of course I know that." This time the voice seemed frustrated, and Tony could have sworn it they sounded familiar.

The man spoke again. "I'm sorry, Nat. Damn concussion."

"Don't think you can blame all of this on the concussion, Rogers," Natasha's voice was clear this time, and Tony nearly collapsed with relief when he saw her push her way through some thick greenery.

"Nat!" Tony called, remembering too late that there might be others around.

Natasha's head snapped toward him, and a smile twitched at her lips before she slid on her mask of indifference.

"Stark," she said coolly. "Where the hell have you been, enjoying a nap?"

"Hilarious," Tony said dryly, resisting the urge to wrap her up in a hug as they drew closer. "Did you let Rogers get hit by a train while I was away?"

Steve glared at him, blue eyes slightly foggy in his pale face.

"He's super excited to see you," Natasha said with a raised eyebrow. "But he's also super concussed."

She smoothed back the blond hair stuck to Steve's forehead with gentle fingers. "As far as I can tell, he must have cushioned his fall with his head."

"I can't actually remember," Steve ground out, swaying where he stood. His eyebrows creased together and then his face went slack for a moment before he lunged for a nearby tree. He leaned over and threw up, coughing violently as he gagged.

"Oh God," Tony said, covering his own mouth with his hand and trying not to look at their suffering captain.

"How hard would he have to hit his head to have a concussion?" Natasha asked in a low voice.

"Pretty fucking hard," Tony said, swallowing over his own gag reflex.

Steve stood up shakily and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I can hear you," he said, sighing as he shifted his gaze between them. He leaned up against the nearest tree with a nearly-disguised groan. "I'm just a little less steady on my feet than normal."

"A little?" Natasha said incredulously, "Let me guess, you're good to fight?"

"Of course I am," Steve ground out, standing up as straight as possible.

"If you can reach around and grab your shield without puking your guts out again, I will give you a literal skyscraper." Tony crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Steve reached back for his shield with his right hand before paling significantly and aborting the motion. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose.

"What would I want with a skyscraper anyways?" Steve cracked one eye open and gave Tony a half smile.

"Oh that's right," Tony snarked. "Captain Out-of-Time, should I have offered you a horse and buggy? Perhaps a bushel of hay? Oh, I know—ten chickens. Isn't that how they did business back in your day?"

Steve snorted, working hard to keep himself from moving. "I don't know what _day_ you think I'm from, Stark, but I would expect more than ten chickens. Not some cheap street performer."

"Could have had me fooled," Tony said with a grunt. "I guess the Star-Spangled-Man-in-Tights only performed on the stage—far too high class for the streets."

He flashed Steve a smile to let him know it was all in good fun, but Steve's cheeks colored anyways.

"Alright, boys," Natasha said, obviously distracted. "If you're just about finished, I think the more technologically-inclined member of our party needs to see if we can salvage my phone."

"Attaboy, Cap," Tony said with a smirk. "You get right on that."

"Seriously, Tony," Steve said with a wince. "I can barely see straight. Have a little mercy."

"Fine," Tony grumbled, caving under Natasha's glare. "Give it here."

He snatched the phone from her hands and turned the device over, sucking air through his teeth as he saw the damage.

"We're probably going to have more luck sending smoke signals."

Natasha sighed and stuffed the damaged device back into a pocket in her suit. "I was hopeful, but that's what I thought."

Steve was staring blankly into the distance, and Tony shot Natasha a concerned look.

Neither Natasha nor Tony had seen Steve concussed before, so there wasn't much data on which to base his specific reaction to a hard blow to the head.

That's when they heard voices.

Steve whipped his head in the direction of the sound, staggering and nearly falling.

"You get him," Natasha whispered. "I'll lead."

As quickly as he could, Tony grabbed Steve's right arm. He pulled it across his shoulders and held tightly to his sweat-slicked wrist. "Come on, Cap," he grunted. "Help me out here."

They trampled through the forest, breathing the thick, foggy air in gasps. Tony could smell a mixture of Natasha's shampoo— _was that coconut?_ —Steve's deodorant, and sweat. They were all drenched in it.

 _Why the hell couldn't we have been hunted through a forest in a cool environment?!_

Eventually, their path brought them to a clearing.

 _It's too exposed. We need to go around._

Tony could tell that Natasha was thinking the same thing, but there were shouts coming from all directions. The hunters had found their prey.

In one last, desperate attempt at escape, they darted out into the clearing. Here the fog was cut by bright sunlight. Tony squinted as his eye adjusted.

Voices came from all sides, and suddenly there was the sound of swords scraping free from their scabbards.

Swords glinted in the overhead sun as the mercenaries stepped from the forest line and into the clearing.

"You crazy fucks!" Tony shouted, eyes darting between the men as Steve's weight made his shoulder ache. "Who the hell even chooses swords as their weapon of choice? Go back to the Medieval Ages, you ridiculous swarm of dicks!"

Tony spun desperately as he looked for a way out, staggering under Steve's weight, but their clearing was inescapable.

They were surrounded.


	10. Plane Frustrating Part Three

**Good news! The Plane Frustrating story arc should be completed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

.

.

.

"Smashed in the head with your own shield, huh?" Tony leaned against the dirt wall and started picking grime from underneath his fingernails. "You bozo."

Steve bristled, shifting on pure reflex. He felt Natasha's hand on his bicep, squeezing in a warning.

He sighed, settling against the wall.

 _I don't really want to throw up again._

"You heard the same thing I did, Stark," Natasha said. "He saved our fucking lives. Give it a rest."

"He jumped out of a plane," Tony said, using his hands to illustrate his story, "without a parachute—mind you—with a platter-sized disc and a lot of spunk, and face-planted into an experimental tracking device."

Distaste dripped from Tony's voice at the last few words. He paused before continuing.

"Said platter-sized disc got between our lovely Captain and the 'experimental tracking device'—"

The air quotes were more pronounced this time.

"—and ended up smacking him in his perfect face when the ridiculous thing exploded."

Tony threw up his hand and widened his eyes at Natasha. "Did I miss any of the daring heroism?"

Steve glared, but he could've sworn that Natasha fought back a smile. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but Steve was getting better at reading the former assassin. When she was smothering a show of emotion, her lips quirked down more than usual, but the skin around her eyes crinkled in the smallest show of enjoyment. She was good at hiding it, but not perfect.

"I'm already starting to heal," Steve said, "but I was more or less out of it when they dropped us down here. Who are these people?"

"Bold of you to assume that these lunatics," Tony raised his voice to shout, " _are actually humans_!"

"Shut the _hell_ up," came a rough voice from above them. "Don't make me shoot you."

"Oh please," Tony said scornfully, "you obviously need us alive. That's why you threw us in this disgusting hole in the ground."

Tony yelped and jumped as dirt near his left foot exploded and the crack of gunshot split the air.

"Don't. Make. Me. Shoot. You." The guard said it slowly this time, like he was speaking sternly to a naughty five-year-old.

"Fine," Tony grumbled, obviously more shaken than he cared to admit.

He lowered his voice as he cautiously scooted over to Steve and Natasha. "Here's our current theory, Evel Knievel."

Steve could only muster up a mild glare.

"There was a swordsman that tried to kill me when I was alone in the forest," Tony said. "He was shot, which was gross, by the way, and then we got captured by sword-wielding maniacs in the clearing. You basically passed out when we were surrounded—cool move, you're definitely not light—and they dragged us to this nasty pit and threw us in. We passed through a camp—they had us blindfolded the entire time—but we heard voices and the shit you hear when you're surrounded by a bunch of people trying to be silent."

Tony paused for a breath, and Steve noticed just how exhausted he looked. Steve had seen Tony panic before, but this was different. Of course, Tony should be worried, tired, and maybe even afraid, but he usually covered it more successfully with his over-the-top bravado. Then Tony had his mask firmly back in place, plowing forward with more information.

"They're evidently led by a sadistic son of a bitch, but we didn't have the pleasure of meeting him."

Steve had never noticed how much Tony spoke in air quotes.

He suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline that made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

"Did they tell you what they were after?"

Natasha cursed quietly in Russian, shaking her head.

Tony blanched and met Steve's eyes with shuttered fear and trepidation.

"You."

.

.

.

Tony hit the dirt floor hard, flailing arms and legs failing to break his fall. The air rushed from his lungs and black spots swarmed across his vision as pain threatened to rip a scream from his throat. It would have succeeded if there had been any air available to him.

Instead, he floundered and gasped, mouth open as he desperately tried to breathe.

"Easy, Tony," Steve said, suddenly in his field of vision. Cap's hands gently felt along his ribs for damage. "You just got the breath knocked out of you."

He felt Natasha's warm hand rest comfortingly on his arm, silently waiting for him to pull in some air.

Even though it felt like years, Tony managed to be somewhat patient as his body recovered from the fall.

"Fuck you, by the way," he gasped out as soon as he could, flipping off the guard who closed the small trapdoor in the steel bars that formed the top of the their prison.

They had come for him roughly an two hours ago. Guards with automatic weapons had ringed the hole where they kept their prisoners, swords sheathed for this particular activity. They had let down a rope and demanded that he climb. When Tony had stubbornly refused to cooperate, they had casually shot Steve in the calf.

Tony had felt cold fear in his stomach when he saw his teammate writhing on the dirt floor of their pit. Not just because the super soldier was biting down on a scream and trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hand, but because these assholes wouldn't have casually risked killing a valuable prisoner.

They knew about Steve's remarkable healing.

The whole world knew that Captain America was strong and fast, but the Avengers tried to keep a lid on Steve's other enhanced abilities. It didn't help to have the enemy know everything, but these people _knew_.

Tony had shot a worried look at Natasha, who had nodded tersely as she moved to help Steve put pressure on the wound.

As soon as Tony reached the top of the cage, rough hands had grabbed his forearms and dragged him onto the grass. The last thing Tony remembered was the butt of a gun swinging down toward his face.

Then he had woken up in a dark room tied to a cold, metal chair. They had asked him questions, most of them having to do with Captain America. He hadn't answered a single question truthfully, and they had beaten him for it.

Now he was back at the pit with a scrap of fabric clenched in his fist. His whole body ached and throbbed, but he was smiling through his split lip.

These idiots had made several mistakes, and now Tony knew who they were up against.

He shot a knowing glance at Natasha, looking pointedly at his fist and then a dark corner of the pit. She nodded, shifting her gaze to Steve.

"Give me a hand, Rogers," she said, letting a little sarcasm color her voice. "I think Stark needs a nap after his excursion."

The cloudiness from the concussion was obviously gone, because Steve's blue eyes darted to Tony's fist and he schooled his expression into something neutral.

Steve's left leg was still pretty useless, but he and Natasha made a show of helping Tony to the shadowy corner.

"Hey Cap," Tony said in a low voice. "How's the ol' noggin? And also the leg."

"I've got a headache, if that's what you're asking," Steve sighed. "But I'm able to form complete sentences and do simple math again, so that's something. As for the leg, it's never felt better. The bloody bandage is just a fashion statement."

"Geeze," Tony whined. "I'm not used to sarcasm from you. It's unsettling."

Steve snorted in what Tony thought might have been a poorly disguised laugh.

"Unless the two of you are hoping to extend our stay," Natasha said with a roll of her eyes, "I suggest we get down to business."

"Right," Tony said, glancing up to make sure the guard didn't have a line of sight to their corner.

 _Coast is clear._

He dropped the scrap of fabric, flattening it on the cool dirt.

Steve stiffened immediately, jaw clenching. "HYDRA."

"Yes and no," Tony said, stuffing the scrap into a pocket in his pants. "These morons are sloppy. They're disorganized. And—not that I'm complaining—but they have no idea how to get information out of people."

Tony looked up at Steve. "Have you ever known HYDRA to be incompetent? Or to slack off in the interrogation department?"

The super soldier shook his head tersely, the corners of his mouth turned down in a tight frown.

"So they're copycats," Steve said. "Some kind of extremists who align with HYDRA?"

Natasha spoke up. "They seem to know a lot about us. Too much. And they must be well-funded. Their tech doesn't come free."

Tony sniffed. "Their tech is playground stuff. We're talking in the millions of dollars."

"Like I said," Natasha glared. "Well funded."

"Sure," Tony said, glancing nervously at Steve.

 _Note to self, do not piss off world-class assassins._

"How did you get that?" Steve whispered, gesturing at Tony's hip pocket.

"Well, here's where the story gets good," Tony said with a shit-eating grin. "I ripped it off a guard I recognized."


End file.
